


Marble

by unoriginalwrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Artist Iwaizumi Hajime, M/M, Model Oikawa Tooru, NSFW, Oneshot, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginalwrites/pseuds/unoriginalwrites
Summary: Oikawa Broke af becomes a nude modelIwaizumi was forced to join his friends art club
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	Marble

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a oneshot, maybe I'll make is a twoshot, but I seriously doubt it Happy Valentines Day

_ Marble _

_ “ _ _ Nude Models Needed for Next Semester” _

Toru Oikawa didn’t realize just how much college would cost until of course, he got there. And Jesus fucking Christ did it cost a lot. Realizing taking naps to avoid eating dinner and filling up three water bottles at his cafeterias drinking fountain wasn’t the healthiest.

But hey, at least he was hydrated, right? He couldn’t help the fact that the weird salty taste in his ancient apartment plumbing worried him to drink, even if his landlord assured him it was ‘safe to drink’, yeah sure Brenden. 

Not to mention, what kind of douchebag has the name Brenden? If your names Brenden I won’t feel bad for your cause you are most likely the problem. If you disagree you probably haven’t noticed yet, here’s your wake up call,  _ Brenden _ . 

Anyway, getting back on track, Oikawa walked through the halls of his overly priced university campus, his head sore from his past two-hour lecture.

Desperately, wanting nothing more than a Netflix binge and a well-deserved nap, Oikawa dug through his backpack trying to pull out his glasses making sure his eyes didn't pertain any more serious damage. He couldn't help forgetting to wear until his eyes screamed at him for some relief. 

And that's how he found himself staring at his department's pinboard. Reading the advertisements for some random clubs after-school activity. He almost missed it, considering it barely stood out on the lousy board.

A couple of the strips of paper had been ripped off, it wasn’t anything dramatically outstanding, just some old colored paper with the words, “Help Wanted” written on it. Oikawa almost mistook it as an ad for a pizza delivery job, the font and design did not fit the content.

Blinking a few times, Oikawa’s vision finally cleared up enough for him to recognize what the text tried to convey. 

_ “ _ _ HELP WANTED! Nude Models Needed for Next Semester” _

No wonder the design was so dull, it was made by the art department. And everyone knew how shitty their funding was. But, if their funding was so awful, how were they advertising to pay for nude models? Were they even paying? 

It was thoughts like these that lead Oikawa to shake his head and move forward, forgetting about the low effort, easy money, lazy- it wouldn’t hurt to call right?

So, Oikawa quickly made a U-turn and ripped a number slip from the trashy neon pink colored sign.  _ Yeah,  _ he thought,  _ I could make this workout. _

***

He called them. He fucking called them. He could make twenty-five bucks a fucking hour. Did he understand where the funding came from? No, not in the slightest. Did he realize this was twice the amount most fast-food workers made in an hour? Yes, of fucking course, so obviously he booked whenever he was free. Which just so happened to be his weekend nights and a random Tuesday.

He always tried to keep his weekend open in case he wanted to go out drinking with some friends, or needed an extra day to sleep through. It also included the one-day Chick-fil-A wasn’t open, and if it was open the only days he was free, his wallet would be dryer than a fucking desert. 

As it turned out, his idea of weekend plans was wrecked when he remembered he didn’t have many friends. The only friends he did have were just some classmates in his chem class who joked around with him after he spilled some sort of dangerous chemicals on his favorite shirt. One of the hardest goodbyes he’s ever had to admit.

But, for this new job of his, he would have to say goodbye to not only his shirt but now his pants, his shoes, and his underwear! To be quite honest, Oikawa didn’t have a problem being nude for a wide array of people. Maybe, it’s because with the sheer amount of people he’s slept with made him somewhat desensitized to being naked, or he was just so narcissistic he wanted to show off his lean and scalped body he didn’t know. 

One thing he did know; however, was that he had full control of the situation. If he had any feelings of discomfort before the meeting he knew he had the right to quit. He also knew the job was heavily surrounded by professionalism. No one was there to act crude or negligent of Oikawa’s body. 

But again, Oikawa went into this full understanding of what he needed to do and researched a lot before making his final decision.

***

It was Saturday night. Otherwise known as, take off your clothes and sit on a couch for a prolonged period of time while people watch you. You’d think he’d be a bit nervous.

Well, he was. Just not in the way you’d expect. In the time he got ready, Oikawa undressed in front of the mirror in his bathroom. His eyes slowly traced every outline of himself. He looked over the birthmark on his elbow, the dimple on his stomach, the scar on his back from when his brother ran over him with a scooter.

He wondered what the models would think of these imperfections? The impurities in his somewhat pale skin. Like a crack on a phone screen or a ripple on a stagnant lake. 

He wiped his eyes and took off his glasses, pretending the now blurry image he saw of himself was an abstract drawing.  _ Much better,  _ he thought.

***

He was in the changing room of his school’s art department, and nothing terrified him but excited him more. He wasn’t particularly worried about getting an erection, although it did worry him. He had to think of nothing, but being naked in a room of twenty or so adults near his age. What else would the disaster bisexual think about?

The changing room he was in had nothing more than a stool and a mirror. It made him narrow in on the cluster of moles near his hips, he sighed while taking his glasses off and putting his robe on.

Like the instructor, he spoke to on the phone, and before class started told him, they would draw for around thirty minutes, and break for ten. It didn’t seem like a difficult plan. He rolled his neck and shoulders doing a quick stretch before pulling the curtain open. 

Then, the instructor talked with him, told him it’d be polite for him to go around introducing himself to some of the artists, which he soon did, walking around shaking hands with the queer painters. 

He hated to be one to assume, but you could just tell from the Doc Martins filling the room. There were only a couple of boys in a room of primarily female, and a person who introduced themself as Yaku who preferred they/them pronouns, which Oikawa nodded and smiled too. He might be a douchebag overall, but he wasn’t a bad person.

Then, the instructor called them to their easels and Oikawa to the stool. He laid out the towel he brought, for cleanliness reasons, untied his robe and sat down when just as he was about to sit properly heard the classroom doors open.

“Sorry, Professor! My class ran a little later than I expected!” A deep voice from Oikawa’s behind said.

“Ah, Iwazumi, we were wondering when you’d show up!”

Oikawa noticed Yaku slip a girl, he remembered as Kaori five hundred yen.

As Oikawa finally adjusted himself where his foot sat on the stool with the rest of his butt, and his head leaned on his knee he looked to the right where the position suited him the best he became face to face with the seemingly late ‘Iwaizumi’.

His hair was nearly black, his face was flushed red with shortness of breath, probably from running here. His eyes so dark it made his gaze pierce wherever he looked which was right back at Oikawa’s eyes.  _ Oh _ .

***

When Iwaizumi was nagged by his friends to join their gaggle of gays at the after-hours art club he was… reluctant to say the least.

He already had enough shit to get done with his History of Art class and Watercoloring 1, would not recommend either of those classes, by the way, Iwaizumi came to this college to make art, not borderline cry at how the proportions of water to color made his entire painting bleed together. Why he chose a campus with such a poor art program was beside the point. 

But, he knew it was after hours which meant no rush, and no forcefulness. The brown-haired boy loved art, he just really hated anything he was forced to do. He wasn’t at college for a degree in art, he was a film major, he just thought it’d be the easiest way to get his needed credits.

Once the semester was over he would not have to go to a class at eight am to paint something he had no real interest in. Truly, he preferred working with oils and when he had the creative energy and inspiration to work with such.

And although he rarely did, those random moments where he just sat through a two-hour lecture and needed to do something with his hands, or when its hours past midnight and the night sky just looked a little bit more beautiful that night were the nights he thrived.

So, here he was racing to the campuses art department super late after a dreaded Structural Analysis class, wondering why he agreed in the first place when he knew he had another eight am Art of History class again in the morning.

Once, Iwaizumi made his presence in the meak classroom well known not only by barging in, but the instructor instantly noticing him and welcoming him, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment.

He moved over to a seat beside Kaori who grinned cheekily his way. 

He sat down his bag and set up his easel and whatever basics tools an artist needed.

When he looked at the model he completely forgot this was a nude modeling gig too.

He noted the situation he was in too once the model looked at his face almost alarmed, but surprised mostly. Iwaizumi took in how the model’s curly hair fell over his forehead in just the right places, and how the model’s spine curved beautifully in the hunched over the position he sat in sideways to Iwazumi, and-  _ Oh. _

***

The painting itself was easy. Iwaizumi was using acrylics, which again wasn’t his favorite, but they weren’t watercolors, so bonus. 

The hard part of the thirty-minute intervals was trying to remain professional and not look at one of Oikawa’s, (the model’s name he soon learned) many, many body parts for just a tad too long.

He thanked every God that the way Oikawa was sitting his junk wasn’t faced towards him or else, eye contact would be out the window. Or maybe he’d only keep eye contact as a way to distract himself from any other fucking area.

Then, the timer went off. And christ he almost sighed in relief once Oikawa was cleared to sit up, put his robe on, and stretch a little.

For some godforsaken reason, however, when Oikawa had his robe on and reached his hands above his head his collarbone slipped out, and that of all fucking things was the thing to set him off.

His cheeks tinted a deep burgundy and he had to hone in on the conversation he was having with Kaori and Yaku.

“See, all I’m saying is that Iwaizumi over here wouldn’t have been late if he knew what the model looked like,” Okay maybe distracting himself was a bad idea.

“Oi, fuck off.” He shoved Yaku which only earned him a punch in the arm back.

“Hey, Kaori! How was I did I seem too wobbly or anything? I hope I was doing okay!” A bright voice said from behind him.

Kaori lifted a thumb, “All good here!”

Yaku nodded in agreement which caused the childish grin on Oikawa to widen even more.

“What did you think? Uh-” 

“Iwaizumi,” he shook the model’s hand, “and you were good for a first-timer. Like marble.”

Oikawa almost blushed, but giggled instead, “Oh, thank you! I was good for a while but I had realized the last five minutes were killer!”

Yaku snorted, “Well, good luck, you’ve got three more intervals to go.”

Oikawa pouted.

It was time to get back into place after the instructors cooking timer had gone off, you know the one shaped like chickens or something.

And as Oikawa did a final stretch before sitting back down, Iwaizumi had come to realize the job fit the worker. 

You had to have a set personality for these things. And after a short conversation with the model in question, you could already tell the type of guy he was.

Oikawa, he seemed on the outside as the aloof kind of guy, but even after having a single conversation with him you could tell he was very passionate about the things he would do or say. Iwaizumi started to wonder what his hobbies outside of this were. What else he was so passionate about? 

Iwaizumi shook his head from his growing thoughts and reached down into the select few paintbrushes he had. He quickly sorted out the skin tone paints he would need, as well as the primary colors he could use for mixing and shading. 

He took his paintbrush and dipped it into the pallet he held in his hand, then he looked up. Oh-

***

Iwaizumi was not your typical horny guy. Sure, he had a few one-night stands, dated a couple of different people, maybe tried this or that, but fuck it he’s only human; however, when Iwaizumi looked up instantly his eyes were drawn to Oikawa’s. Oikawa who had been staring right into Iwaizumi’s pupils, with the neediest, bedroom eyes he had ever seen.

Iwaizumi hated the phrase, “bedroom eyes” it was vulgar and gross, but there was no other way to describe the way Oikawa stared into his eyes. 

The painter blushed.

He was almost turned on just by the half-lidded eyes, and the way he licked his lips slowly, grazing his teeth on his bottom lip so gently only people who were playing close attention could tell.

The painter looked to his left and right, completely flustered, and wearing a heavy blush that sprinkled on his ears and down his neck. No one else looked like him. He gulped.

He blinked a couple of times, then tried to move as normally as possible without showing off his growing erection. Focusing on the shading, the form, the values, the textures, the color, literally anything else, anything, anything-

“Times up! Ten minutes break a good job, everyone!”

Iwaizumi let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Placing the brush down was the easy part he realized once Oikawa had walked up to his small gaggle of friends. _ Because of course, Oikawa had to make friends only with Yaku and Kaori while I was busy being late,  _ Iwaizumi thought,  _ of fucking course. _

It didn’t surprise him though, Kaori and Yaku were very extroverted people. Well, extroverted wasn’t the correct word. More of, Yaku and Kaori didn’t know how to shut up.

Oikawa excused himself to the restroom before the second half of the time began.

“So, Oikawa seems nice,” Kaori stated.

Iwaizumi shrugged, acting nonchalantly. Yaku, the bastard, saw right through it.

Wiggling their eyebrows, they teased, “Hm, yeah doesn’t Oikawa seem nice Iwaizumi?”

“He seems fine,” His voice coming out harsher than he intended. The two giggled.

“You two are impeccable, I can’t believe I agreed to this,” The tallest of them huffed, “I didn’t even want to in the first place.”

“Oh, but I’m so sure you are happy you joined now aren’t you?” Yaku started leaning against Kaori pretending to be Iwaizumi, “Oh, Oikawa, you’re so pretty, I want to paint you and your beautiful face, you look like marble muah, muah muah.”

And a lot more kissy noises later, Iwaizumi finally had enough with those two and shoved them stepping away back to his station busying himself with whatever he could.

When he saw the model return he realized it was a bad idea to leave the three of them together. His fears worsened after he heard them all laughing. This is gonna be forty-five minutes.

***

Fucking finally. An excruciating long forty-five minutes later, Iwaizumi was convinced he couldn’t grow any redder. He was ready to pack all of his things and race out of there until he heard the dreadful voice of his professor. 

“Hajime Iwaizumi,”  _ Fuck, _ the first name too, “I am a pretty lenient teacher, but because you decided to turn up so late, I want you to stay back and put away all of the easels and wash out the water jars, you know the way I like them cleaned, sparking fini-”

“Sparkling finish,” Iwaizumi ended, “Yes, I am aware I apologize I promise I’ll get that finished up right now,”

“Thatta boy,” he clapped the painters back, “Here lock up for me will you?”

He only nodded too tired and upset over his easy escape to respond any further.

He began folding up the easels and stacking the canvases on the drying rack, careful not to place them too close together, some still having tacky paint.

And one of the canvases had a painting in watercolor, “What kind of fuck head did that?”

“Ouchy, someones angry,” Hajime jumped. Although, the voice he did recognize. And damn, it wasn’t he particularly wanted to hear.

“Oikawa? I thought you would have left by now.”

“Yeah, but the teacher forgot one minor detail, my things are in a locked cabinet, and I’m fairly certain the cabinet has a key that’s attached to one of those,” Oikawa pointed to the key chain Iwaizumi had put on his stool, the keychain that held one of many, “don’t mind me though, I can manage with just my robe until your done, oddly enough it gets pretty warm up on this stool with all the lights.”

Iwaizumi hadn’t even noticed he was still in his robe, but once he turned his attention fully to the man in front of him, shit, he was stunning.

Hajime gulped.

“May I ask you a question Iwa-chan?” Again with that stupid nickname.

“What is it Oikawa? Take notice of how I used your full name.”

The brunette rolled his eyes, “Do you think I did well today?”

“I dunno, good I guess as far as modeling goes?” Iwaizumi shrugged.

“C’mon, Iwa-chan! Tell me something useful! Show me how I can become better!”

“I don’t know dude, maybe you could try sitting in a more comfortable position so it’s easier to sketch relaxed muscles?”

“See there you go!” Oikawa tilted his head, “Hey, Iwa?”

Hajime exhaled, “Yes, Oikawa?”

“Could you show me what you mean?”

“No,” Hajime looked at the man pouting, “Ye-no! Sure, fine whatever!”

He set the mason jar, stained with acrylics, and the old tattered paintbrushes down.

He wiped his hands on his pants, the ancient faded ones, paint stains littered them all over. He stepped over to the modeling ledge, he sighed, “Try putting your hands behind your back, and letting your legs fall in front.”

Oikawa tried, he did, “No, no, no, keep your thighs uncrossed or your blood flow will get uncomfy, cross your ankles.”

“Could you show me?” Oikawa made a puppy face, that equivalent to a child. Mostly, cause it worked. Hajime stepped up onto the stage.

“You gonna move so I can show you?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“What? I thought you were just gonna position me, so I knew what you meant.” Oikawa said nonchalantly.

Hajime rolled his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew not to fall for his antics, and not let it lead to somewhere else, but fuck it.

“Fine,” he snapped. Anger hiding excitement.  _ No, not excitement,  _ Iwaizumi was way to thick-skulled to let himself thing that.

“Here,” Iwaizumi reached out, and touched Oikawa’s shoulder blades, leaning them back. He took the thin biceps next, pulling them behind Oikawa, placing his hands resting on the stool, so it looked as if he were leaning back, “But don’t apply too much pressure or else your arms will grow weaker easily.”

“You sound as if you’ve done this before?” Oikawa teased, he was not, however, expecting Iwaizumi to wink back.

Iwaizumi had never before, but he’s dealt with all kinds of models, he knew what worked and what didn’t.

“Now uncross your thighs like this, but keep them together,” Oikawa’s breath hitched once Iwaizumi clasped his rough hands on his inner thigh, moving him around like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

“Good, now cross your ankles like this, there.” Oikawa felt like a mermaid the way he was positioned at the end of it all, not something he was repulsed by, oddly enough.

“Now,” Hajime tilted Oikawa’s chin up towards the sky, “there, that’s normally a pretty easy pose.”

“You call all that easy,” The way they stood Hajime still had his fingers resting on Oikawa’s chin, there faces, were so close they felt the warm breath of each other, only now realizing the proximity.

“Maybe, for someone not as aloof as you yes,” Iwaizumi smirked.

“Excuse you, weren’t you the one who mentioned how good I was?” Oikawa retorted, his eyes glancing at Hajime’s eyes then back up, _takethehint-takethehint-takethehint_ , his eyes seemed to scream.

“Hm, maybe I just let you think that? So, you wouldn’t get scared off.”

“Oh, sure Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said the nickname just as mocking as Iwaizumi had spoken his sentence.

Finally, their lips had collided. Oikawa’s lips were as soft as they looked, and at some point, Hajime’s hands met Oikawa’s dainty waist. It was gentle, almost as if the painter didn’t handle his art with the care the colors would smudge together.

Then, Oikawa’s lips parted ever so slightly. Iwaizumi followed slowly, worried he might make a mistake and mess up his whole piece of artwork. But soon they were kissing for real, delicate, and moving.

Oikawa’s hands wove his hands into Iwaizumi’s always messy hair, pulling at it ever so gently, causing Iwaizumi to gasp out in a mix of surprise, and pleasure.

Suddenly things seem too slow, and Iwaizumi wanted more. He couldn’t describe the feeling, it was nothing more than an overwhelming urge of not enough and Iwaizumi had slid his tongue in Oikawa’s mouth.

He was warm, and their kiss seemed to tingle all the way around his mouth like he was kissing someone for the first time.

Hajime had taken his hand and slid it into Toru’s already loose robe. Feeling the milk skin, and drinking up every curve the slender boy had to offer.

Toru moaned once Hajime’s fingers ghosted over his ribcage. And if Hajime didn’t need for more before, he did now.

He slid the stupid robe off of one of Toru’s shoulders, kissing his way from his lips, to his neck, to his collarbone, leaving purple bruises all along his shoulder.

It had Toru gasping underneath him, and once Iwaizumis lips had met Toru’s nipples, licking them and biting them, Toru groaned, and it went straight to Hajime’s dick.

Toru, finally shrugged the rest of the thin robe off, leaving him fully exposed on the chair to the man above him,  _ fuck _ , Hajime thought as he stood in front of Toru, fingers tracing the brunette’s lips, “You’re so pretty.”

And if the sight before Hajime didn’t turn him on so badly, he felt like a teenager going through puberty again, Toru then responded whimpering, yes whimpering, “Iwa-chan.”

Hajime ravished him. Kissing, licking, biting, touching, scraping all his way down to sitting in front of Toru’s lap as he kneeled on the cold wooden stage.

“You asked if I thought you were a good model?” Hajime questioned, making swirls with his tongue inside Toru’s silky smooth thighs, “I do, you’re just like marble.”

Then Hajime gave Toru some kind of release as he started touching the model’s dick. Liking up from the shaft to the tip twirling his tongue around the head of Toru’s cock.

“Ah- Iwa ch-chan!” Toru, remembered where he was, who he was with. In the middle of an art room, he didn’t know his school had, with a man he barely met an hour ago, with him blowing him, and fuck was he good with his mouth.

Hajime’s cheeks hollowed as he swallowed down Toru’s cock, him moaning whenever Toru let out another one of those delicious whimpers that the painter just ate up as he worked his tongue up and down, and up and down, and up and down, like he was shading with charcoal.

“Oh, fuck Iwa- I-I’m gonna c-cum,” Toru panted gripping Hajime’s hair again. Not a moment later Iwaizumi felt the warm liquid spill into his mouth, a taste and sensation, he would never come to like, but he was polite.

Once, Hajime had fully pulled away he noticed just how disheveled this one man was compared to Iwaizumi. 

Oikawa was naked beside the sleeves of his robes fallen down to his elbows, and the look of his face flushed red, breathing completely sporadic and out of rhythm.  _ Fuck,  _ Hajime thought,  _ I did that. _

“Iwa-chan,” Toru whimpered again.

And it was enough for Hajime to completely hoist him up, to carry him over to the couch, and fuck him until he couldn’t walk anymore.


End file.
